Turning and Returning
by Ebon Hush
Summary: It is said that there comes a time where lines are drawn in the sand. But sand shifts, and so do alliances. Where will you stand? This story contains slash nongraphic and a lot of swearing and some violence. Feb 29th: THREE MONTHS HIATUS DUE TO EXAMS.
1. Hey Hey, I Saved The World Today

**Disclaimer: **I do not own X-Men the movies, comics or X-Men Evolution. They belong to their respective owners and are only borrowed with respect. No money is being made from this piece of fiction.

**A/N: **Warning! This piece of fiction will include romance between members of the same sex. You have been warned! (So don't bitch about it…)

That being said, the romance will not be graphic and I will endeavour to keep everyone in character.

Please, give it a try.

This is my first attempt at slash or yaoi or whatever, so please let me know what you think.

This chapter is the introduction and the romance will probably be a while in coming.

(Oh, and I've never been to Phoenix, I know nothing of the layout of the surrounding lands, so bear with me)

Enjoy.

**Turning and Returning**

**Chapter 1: Hey, Hey. I Saved the World Today**

Xavier's school for Gifted Youngsters, state of New York.

A few months after Alcatraz

The summer sun turned the spouts on the dried up fountain a burnished bronze. It was mid July and the Institute was empty and quiet, most of the students having gone home for the summer holidays.

Bobby Drake sat at the edge of the empty stone pool, lazily trailing his fingers back and forth across the reflective surface of a small puddle of still water left at the bottom, watching the fractured light created by the ripples.

He had stopped being envious of the students lucky enough to have a home to go to in the summer. He kinda liked the quiet.

He was glad on their behalves; he really was, even if the thought of his own family and their disgusted expressions still caused a small lump to form in his throat.

At least there was still hope for some.

Things had changed for the mutant community after the battle at Alcatraz. In the weeks following the confrontation between the X-Men and the Brotherhood, the story of their 'Heroic Sacrifice' had spread across the nation, gaining momentum and drama with each retelling.

He was quite sure that each and every member of the team resembled honest to God superheroes in the minds of the public by now.

Bobby found it slightly embarrassing.

_Some_ good had come of all the hoo-hah, though. All of a sudden, having a mutation wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Even if some humans still feared and distrusted most carriers of the X-gene, being a mutant now had a certain coolness factor.

The general relaxing in attitude towards his kind was helped along by the fact that the Brotherhood had been decimated beyond repair. Their leader was now human, just an old feeble man, wanted by the police. Their greatest weapon, the Phoenix, was gone… and so was one of their most ardent supporters.

Pyro had been brought down by Bobby's own hand.

He still remembered the sharp 'crack' when ice had met flesh and bone.

Ice had won.

Bobby had felt bone break and seen the first line of blood make its way down the face of his erstwhile best friend. At the time he had felt no remorse, only a very slight tinge of regret.

Now, however…

Before Alcatraz, summer was a time when Bobby had elected to stay at the Mansion for most of the break to hang out with their resident pyrokinetic.

John didn't have anywhere to go, making him one of the ten or so people who always stayed. His parents had kicked him out when he manifested at the age of eleven, and he'd lived on the streets of Perth, Australia, for a year or so, before the Professor had shown up with a document signing him over to the custody of the Institute.

Yes; Mister and Mrs. Allerdyce had been all too eager to send their son across the world to America and had never been heard from again.

When Bobby had come to the Institute, he and John had been roommates for while; until, for some reason, Pyro had been moved in with Piotr instead. The two foreign boys had gotten along surprisingly well. The stoic Russian never let anything rile him up, and after a few weeks, John had stopped trying.

This time of year had traditionally been devoted to motor crossing across the grounds or in the hills nearby, going entirely too fast, or just perfecting the teenage art of doing absolutely nothing.

Bobby still did nothing, but…

_Things change._

There just didn't seem to be much of a point anymore.

Bobby had always had a drive, a will to exert himself.

Before the Institute, there had been school sports and academic competition. After he manifested and came to New York, those things had been replaced entirely by John.

In a school were everyone was special, unique, there had been no point to physical competition and the classes had been so personalised that any academic achievement was singular and therefore not comparable.

John had been the standard he measured himself against. That contest in it self had become sort of a point of pride for them. They were polar opposites. Their backgrounds, their tempers, their very natures had always been at odds, and they liked it that way.

Bobby had been the positive, John the negative. And now that the negative was missing, the positive had no point, nothing to push against. He felt like a compass needle with no North Pole to point to.

_You're getting maudlin' in your old age, Drake. You _won_, you _finally_ won, so suck it up and be happy for fuck's sake!_

At some point in time, his mind had started to compensate for the loss of the taciturn pyrokinetic and had developed a lovely little voice of its own. It even sounded like Pyro.

It just went to show how well they had known each other. Bobby didn't really need John to actually _be_ there with him. He already knew exactly what his friend's reaction to every single scenario would be and the voice supplied appropriate comments.

No, he didn't need John.

A call sounded across the grounds from the PA system, telling the students and faculty that lunch was served.

Bobby suddenly realised that the right side of his face was burning from having sat still in the sun for over an hour. He chilled his hand and sighed in relief as he placed it against his cheek to cool it off.

John _never_ got sunburn. It was like the heat of the sun bypassed his skin completely and went straight to his core, transforming into energy.

Pyro had been downright chipper on sunny days, Bobby remembered. He'd always thought that to be damned unfair.

_God, I'm parched. Hope they got juice…_

Most kinds of fruit had been hard to come by that summer. Great fires had swept across the country, destroying plantations throughout the South. Water had been rationed for months, and lawn watering had been prohibited along with outdoor fires. That year, the Fourth of July had been celebrated without barbeques and fireworks.

As Bobby made his way to the French doors leading to the dining room, he winced slightly at the dry crunching of the grass under his feet.

Stepping into the interior, he breathed a sigh of relief. The AC unit was working overtime trying to keep the Mansion cooled down to a manageable temperature, often helped along by himself and Storm. The thick walls of the old manor house helped isolate the building and all together, they were luckier than most.

The TV was playing in the dining room. It was a news broadcast showing yet another conflagration, this one sweeping across the parched landscape of Arizona. Great tracts of grassland were being devoured by the flames. The tendrils reached heights of fifteen yards and more.

A group of people had gathered in front of the screen, staring at the destruction in avid fascination.

Storm looked like she was considering jumping on the Blackbird and raining the flames into submission. She couldn't though, as she had explained to the government earlier in the summer. Causing a rainstorm in one place at that time, would only remove moisture from another part of the atmosphere and that would lead to another fire breaking out. It simply wasn't a viable option.

The officials had been less than thrilled at that news.

Logan was clutching a cold beer in one hand and the remote in the other and scowling at the TV in an 'I wanna beat your ass' kinda way.

The students looked awed and more than a little scared.

In one corner, the insomniac techno kinetic Jones was fiddling with a police scanner.

Bobby couldn't help the cynical thought that made its way to the front of his mind.

_John would have _loved_ this. Here we are, the mighty X-Men, powerless against something he has complete control over… He'd be laughing his ass off!_

"Oh, Gods," Storm suddenly exclaimed. "It's moving towards a populated area!"

True enough; the camera angle had changed to show the high risers of the city of Phoenix, only a few miles in the distance. They could see that the journalists were busy packing up and readying to move out of harm's way.

"Those poor people. There must be something we can do?" She turned to Logan as she had so often done in these past months. The two had become a unit. Not an item but a closely knitted entity, taking over running the school and leading the remaining X-Men.

Logan, however, just shrugged and growled: "ain't nuthin' we can do, 'Ro. You know that."

The weather goddess nodded her head once in resignation and turned back to the screen with a sigh.

"I know," she whispered, brokenly. Being helpless was the one thing she hated most in the world. She had always been able to rely on herself. Her powers were great. She was one of the most potent Class 4 mutants alive, and she had a keen mind. This feeling of impotence did not sit well with her.

The news cast shifted to a studio and the words 'Government has a Solution' scrolled across the screen.

Intrigued, Logan turned up the volume.

"… Senator Trask here with us today," the anchorman was saying. "I understand that you have devised a solution to the imminent destruction of one of our great cities?"

Senator Trask was leaning back in his seat with a self satisfied expression on his face.

"Yes that is so, Mark," he started. "We have the means of stopping the flames in their tracks as it were. I strongly urge the good people of Phoenix to stay in their houses at this point. All they need to do is close all doors and windows to avoid the smell, and breathe a sigh of relief. I give you my guarantee that not a single flame will touch you!"

"What is this plan, Senator?"

"Well, it's part of our new program to utilise the mutant threat for the benefit of our nation. My party believes that it's time the 'Genetically Gifted' gave something back to the community. Here, I am of course referring mainly to the subversive elements, such as the Brotherhood terrorists. We have developed a control unit called a Tourniquet. It works something like a choke collar for dogs, allowing us to cut of a destructive mutant from the use of his or her powers. It's all very technical, so I think a practical demonstration is in order… ahh" he pointed to a screen in the studio showing a military helicopter approaching the fire's front.

"And here it is…"

As the students and faculty watched with bated breath, the helicopter landed and five soldiers dressed in fire repellent clothing got out. As one, they pointed their rifles at the aircraft and a sixth figure emerged. The last figure was a male clad in what looked like grey pyjama bottoms and a sleeveless shirt. His hair was raggedly cropped close to his head, and around his neck he was wearing what looked like a collar. He had both hands cuffed behind his back.

"Hey, guys. I'm picking up their comm. traffic," Jones exclaimed. The technical wunderkind brought over the radio and the gathered mutants could now hear the radio chatter of the soldiers and their laughter as the manacled mutant stumbled.

Other than hefting their guns a bit more enthusiastically, none of the soldiers moved a muscle.

The figure made its way to its feet and directed a glare at the soldier in front of him. At that point, the camera zoomed in on the captive's face and the entire dining room became silent as the grave.

Blood shot hazel eyes seemed to bore through the screen to hit each and every one of them.

"This mutant was captured at Alcatraz and kept for experimenting," Trask's smug voice sounded. "He is one of the terrorists responsible for the attack on Worthington Labs, and therefore has been issued a Death sentence. Instead of executing him, we believe that its time this criminal learns how to use his powers properly!" he crowed.

Bobby couldn't breathe. The last time he had met those eyes, it had been at Alcatraz through a veil of fire and ice.

All he could see was the look replayed in his mind; the surprise in his friend's eyes as he crumpled to the ground. Bobby had been convinced that he would never meet that stare again.

One thought fought its way through the static noise in his head:

_But John _hates _putting out flames. _

Bobby knew that fire had been the only constant in Pyro's life for years, his only friend. To him, fire was alive, and killing it with his powers would be like killing a close companion, like killing a part of himself.

Bobby could relate.

On the screen, the soldiers had removed the cuffs from Pyro's wrists and he was now walking unsteadily away from the chopper, towards the towering inferno.

The pyrokinetic's shoulders were sagging, like a great burden was trying to force him to his knees.

His arms were covered in needle marks and the speechless mutant spectators could see his veins clearly through almost translucent skin. He looked far too thin and unsteady.

_Experiments, my ass!_ Bobby thought to himself.

The camera followed Pyro closely as he made his way through the throng of reporters. The soldiers surrounded him on all sides, blocking the army of microphones thrust in front of the mutant.

Pyro didn't seem to notice them at all. He only had eyes for the flames.

Looking unblinkingly into the fire, Pyro just kept walking. About a hundred yards from the flames, the soldiers stopped, leaving him to approach the inferno alone. Soon he was fifty feet from them and he stopped in his tracks, his head thrown back in either ecstasy or prayer.

"At this point, the soldier in charge of the Tourniquet will disengage the collar and release the mutant's powers. The mutant will then assume control of the fires and put them out," the Senator was saying.

"Something of this magnitude?" the reporter asked in surprise. "Is that really possible?"

"Usually no," Trask admitted, not loosing his smile. "The Tourniquet, however, allows the mutant to break through any barriers that might normally limit his powers. The procedure causes the mutant to burn out faster, and might even cause some internal damage, but as I mentioned before, this individual is a convicted terrorist and a murderer. This is simply another way of making him pay for his crimes against humanity!"

On screen, they could see one of the soldiers lowering his weapon and turning a dial on a device strapped to his wrist. The static of an active transmitter sounded over the scanner in the room and the words "Containment measures disabled," sounded through the ether.

As the camera once again turned back to Pyro, Bobby watched his fists flex and relax. The flames suddenly seemed to pause and pay attention.

The pyrokinetic walked another ten or fifteen yards towards the tsunami-like wall of fire and slowly raised trembling arms as if to embrace it.

The red dots of five laser painters instantaneously appeared on the back of his head. The soldiers obviously weren't taking any chances with the mutant on their hands, that much was clear.

The camera again zoomed in on the features of his former friend. A single tear was making its unheeded way down Pyro's face and his lips moved, forming the words: "I'm so sorry," before his eyes clenched shut.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the young mutant lowered his arms. His palms were facing down, and he seemed to be gently coaxing the fire to rest, like a caring animal handler would calm an angry but beloved predator.

Inch by agonizing inch, the fire seemed to draw into itself. Bobby could almost feel the sorrow emanate from his old friend as each flame shrunk, became smaller, and finally died.

He looked so alone.

The crowd gathered by the helicopter "ooh"ed and "ahh"ed. But, apparently, Pyro wasn't moving quickly enough to please the soldiers or Trask.

"Get a move on, men," the senator's voice sounded over the comm. To the anchorman he continued: "You will now see the effects of the Tourniquet at full strength."

On screen the soldier again fiddled with the dial on his wrist and John's hands flew to his throat.

"Quit complaining, you little shit!" the soldier could be heard growling over the scanner. "Get your mutant ass in gear!"

As the dial kept turning, Pyro went to his knees and, at an ever increasing rate the flames started blinking out of existence.

The fire was dying.

Pyro was screaming by then. It seemed as though he was dying right along with it.

Great elemental turrets disappeared like they had never been, vaporizing like ice crystals in the sun.

In a matter of seconds, the inferno was reduced to a bonfire and in a few seconds more, only residual heat remained.

Lying only a few yards from the charred edge of grass and brush was the crumpled form of Pyro, stripes of dried blood running from nose and mouth.

On screen, the crowd went wild. People were jumping up and down, embracing and cheering.

In the Mansion's dining room, silence reigned.

-&-**&**-&-

**A few minutes later, outside the city of Phoenix.**

Two soldiers were loading the unconscious mutant aboard the chopper. The manacles had been put back on, and the collar was again on full 'suppress' mode. They were waving to the cameras and their sergeant was giving an interview, consisting of little more than "no comments" and "the location of the mutant holding facility is classified."

No one seemed to notice a dark clad man, standing on the periphery, sunglasses and scarf covering his face and gloves hiding the skin on his hands. Had they been paying attention, though, they would have seen the absolute outrage and anger painted across his irregular features.

As the chopper lifted off, he brought a small microphone to his mouth and spoke, accent clearly audible:

"Chopper's in the air, luv. Those blokes never noticed a thing. Tracer's in place. Blue, do you read?"

The earpiece he was wearing crackled to life and a strangely modified female voice replied.

"The tracer is active and broadcasting, Green. Well done, Mortimer."

"I'll see you at base. Out"

Looking to the sky, trailing the quickly fading military helicopter, the figure whispered:

"Won't be long now. Hang in there, brother."

**TBC.**

**A/N: **So… what do you think? I started out with a nice, long chapter and I hope to see some nice, long reviews!

**Please! **Don't just write "loved it, please continue" or something. I'd really loooove to hear what your likes or dislikes are, so please take the time to drop me a line! (You know you want to!)

(The chapter title comes from the awesome song of the same name by the Eurythmics. The story title is from 'Take My Breath Away' by Berlin)

**Peace Out **

**Ebon Hush**

Next on Turning and Returning: **Chapter 2: War Heroes**


	2. War Heroes

**Disclaimer: **See chapter one.

**A/N: **Thank you to my reviewers, all three of you. Good to know you like it so far.

Please note, that ALL reviews will be answered personally, so PLEASE take the time and drop me a line!

Enjoy!

**Turning and Returning.**

**Chapter 2: War Heroes**

**Last time on Turning and Returning:**

_Two soldiers were loading the unconscious mutant aboard the chopper._

_No one seemed to notice a dark clad man, standing on the periphery, sunglasses and scarf covering his face and gloves hiding the skin on his hands._

"_The tracer is active and broadcasting, Green. Well done, Mortimer."_

_Looking to the sky, trailing the quickly fading military helicopter, the figure whispered:_

"_Won't be long now. Hang in there, brother."_

**-()-**

**High security military installation. Somewhere in Virginia.**

**The next day**.

A murmur of voices, mixed together and unintelligible made its way through his dazed mind. They reverberated and undulated like endless echoes, and Pyro had no idea who was talking or what about.

He tried blinking through the haze, slowly opening and closing his eyes. He could still smell the ashes and taste the sweet heat in the back of his throat. It had been so long… so long.

And now the fire was gone and he was alone again.

He felt cold.

The metal collar around his neck seemed to tear into his skin like a bad case of frost burn. He shivered and choked back something he still refused to acknowledge as a sob. They had made him scream, they had made him throw up from the pain they had inflicted, but they hadn't broken him, not completely, anyway. They hadn't made him cry, even if he had wanted to.

Not that they hadn't tried their best. Every moment from the time he was found at Alcatraz, beaten, bloody and confused they had tried.

The soldiers had been about to put a needle in him, filled with the poison they had the audacity to call a cure, but then _HE_ had come and told them to stop. "Wait, we have use for him," _he_ had said.

Trask.

Pyro's mind turned to white hot flame at the mere thought of that name- his captor, his torturer… his would be master.

_Not gonna happen, you fat, insignificant fuck! _He growled to himself and forced his eyes all the way open.

He was met by white: White ceramic tiles everywhere, fire resistant of course. He had a moment of satisfaction every time he looked at the inside of his prison. They were still afraid of what he could do.

They should be.

He vaguely remembered passing out again and again after their little…sessions; escaping the pain and the humiliation, seeking refuge in dreams of never ending fields of flame, consuming the laughs, the taunts and the questions. Consuming _HIM_.

He would enjoy seeing _his_ flesh blacken even more, crinkling and tearing. He would watch Trask burn with the same fascination and lack of remorse of a small child putting an insect under a magnifying glass in the sun.

That sweet thought allowed him to ignore the pain that seemed to have become his world for a little while.

They had gone medieval on him; they had used whips and pokers. The whip to break his body and the pokers to break his spirit. They had heated them with a blowtorch inches from his face to make it absolutely clear to him how helpless he was, how far out of reach his powers were.

He didn't blame the fire, oh no, he knew that it was in its nature to burn. He didn't feel betrayed by his element, because he understood what _they_ didn't - the humans. Fire _had_ no allegiance.

Gradually, as his mind became more aware and the dazed bliss of the fire-dreams faded, he became aware of his own body. He was strapped onto a cold ceramic plate, held in place by metal restraints.

The Tourniquet was hooked up to a machine wrapped in asbestos. It was monitoring his brainwaves or something… at least that was what he'd been able to gather from the technicians who sometimes came into the room.

The collar was fitted with hollow needles, inserted into his arteries… and then there was the _thing_: a thick needle like-device that was driven into the base of his skull. He clearly remembered the pain of it going in the first time.

He had tried to memorize the face of the man who'd put it in. He needed to remember, so he could shove the damn thing through his fucking eye, when he got loose.

_You mean 'if' you get loose…_

He had started to have doubts after a few months. Nobody had come for him. He had been abandoned by Magneto, just like Mystique had been, when she was no longer useful to him.

He remembered a quote from a movie he had once watched with Bobby.

"You fall behind, you get left behind."

There wasn't any hope left. There was no one he could rely on. Not even him self.

The fire was gone, his mentor was gone, he had abandoned his friends for a lost cause and now he had nothing – just pain and anger. He needed to hold on to that: the rage.

I wasn't quite enough, though.

Without the one thing that made him what he was, his defining element, it had become so hard to remember who he really was: Pyro. Not 'Mutant 147' not 'the subject' but Pyro, the Class 4 pyrokinetic.

Today had been a reminder. He had been given a glimpse of what he was - who he had always been. The fire had stood at attention when he called. And he'd killed it…

The door to his cell hissed open. In stepped Trask.

The black man was wearing an expensive looking blue suit and his eyes were sparkling merrily. He looked so damned _alive_ that Pyro wanted to char the motherfucker on principle alone.

"Ah, Mutant 147, how are we today?" he asked jovially. There was no furniture in the small room, so the senator contended himself with standing in front of the restrained mutant and smiling.

"No answer?" he 'tsk'ed. "Why am I not surprised?"

Pyro suppressed the urge to childishly stick out his tongue at him and settled for sneering instead.

That'll_ show him!_ His mind whispered and he couldn't quite stop the half chuckle, half snort that made its way past his lips.

Senator Trask actually looked a little apprehensive at that reaction.

_That boy is breaking apart. _

The point _had_ been to break the mutant, make him malleable enough to control, but maybe, just maybe they had gone a bit too far? The former terrorist was clearly going mad.

Pyro watched as emotions flitted across the senator's face. He seemed surprised and not a little worried.

_Am I scaring you? _He thought sarcastically. _Bobby would have gotten the joke…_

Bobby. He hadn't always liked John's sense of humour, but he did have a strong appreciation for the absurd. Everyone here seemed to have the 'secret government agency' rulebook shoved about a meter up their ass.

"We're the FBI, ma'am. We don't have a sense of humour that I'm aware of," he giggled to himself.

"What?" Trask asked, confused.

_Never thought I'd actually miss you, Frosty._

Pyro had lost interest in the human. There was obviously no point to the visit other than his incessant need to gloat.

He started humming.

"You're getting on my nerves, 147. I asked you a question and you're expected to answer!"

Pyro closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tiles.

Suddenly a searing ripple of electricity coursed through his body, crawling up and down his spine, making his hands spasm and his toes curl. He would have screamed, but his teeth were clenched so hard that hardly any sound made its way past them. All that escaped was a hiss and a half choked whimper.

Trask watched with detached interest as the boy in front of him went into full convulsions. In his hand was the trigger for the Tourniquet's inducer unit.

_Spare the rod…_

"Excuse me, sir?"

Without him noticing anything, the door to the cell had slid open and Doctor Morrison was standing there with a tray holding a clipboard, a vial and a syringe.

Trask released the trigger and turned to face him. The doctor was a man in his forties, brown haired, brown eyed and soft spoken. Trask didn't know him very well, but he had come highly recommended and had worked for the military before, under Colonel Stryker.

"Yes, Doctor?" he asked amiably.

"I need to do some follow ups. Establish the lingering effects on the mutant after the expenditure of power yesterday. If I could ask you to belay whatever you had in mind for a while? An hour or so? I need to sedate the subject before taking it to the testing facility."

"Of course Doctor. If you would contact me when you're done?"

"I will, Senator. Thank you."

Trask turned to the barely conscious boy on the ceramic slab and whispered: "We'll finish this later, one-four-seven."

Pyro couched and a small spatter of blood made it halfway to the senator's face.

"Can't wait…" he gasped.

Scowling at the mutant's continued defiance, the senator made his way past the slightly smiling doctor and out the door. He needed a cup of coffee.

As the door closed with a hydraulic hiss, the doctor put the tray on the floor and approached the captive, leaning in close.

On the way, he flipped the switch to the surveillance system, shutting it off.

Pyro forced his eyes open and tried to look Morrison in the eyes. He wasn't succeeding though; the pleasant smile was wavering in front of him and the brown eyes kept changing colours until they settled in a deep yellow.

_Huh?_

"Pyro, Pyro, Pyro… When will you learn that it doesn't always pay to spit in the face of authority?" the doctor asked with a voice that was… different. Not his.

_I know that voice… Don't I? _

As his mind scrambled to catch up with his senses, Morrison smiled.

_I KNOW that smile!_

"M'Stique?" he mumbled.

The doctor's form melded into familiar blue scaly skin. Mystique smiled again and put a hand against Pyro's pale cheek and stroked it once with her thumb.

"Shh… child. We're here, now," she whispered reassuringly.

"The cure…"

"Obviously isn't permanent," she answered his unspoken question. "Now hush, we'll talk later. Mort is waiting with a helicopter, but I have to sedate you to get you out."

"The collar," he gasped. He knew that if he left the facility wearing it without the controller unit, it would kill him. Trask had made sure he knew, the smug bastard.

"It's taken care of, everything is alright, don't worry," Mystique soothed.

As she uncapped the syringe and filled it with the sedative, she started looking for a likely vein on the boy's arm. She couldn't find one. Every one of them seemed to belong to a long time drug addict. Trace marks made their way up and down both the boy's upper extremities and his skin seemed paper thin.

"They use t'neck now…" he mumbled. "Through the collar, right side…"

"Alright then. This will hurt."

"I know."

He winced as the needle went through his skin and gasped as she pushed the plunger down.

In a few seconds, his eyes started to drop closed and his head slumped forward.

As she was lifting the boy on to a wheeled stretcher, a voice sounded over her ear piece.

"Mystique! A silent alarm had been tripped."

"Toad. Say again?"

"An alarm had been tripped. I don't know how long ago, but I just picked up an in flight transmission. The X-Men are here."

"Damn it!"

"I'm heading your way. Better hurry it up, luv."

"Copy that, Toad. Mystique out."

**-()-**

**Blackbird jet. On approach to secret government base:**

Bobby Drake looked out of the window, absently staring at the Virginia landscape as it passed by in a blur beneath them. Once, not to long ago, he had sat in the same position, sweating bullets as they approached Alcatraz.

Now, however, he was used to the idea of going on missions. He had been on a few during the last months.

They had been approached a few hours ago by the government, who had asked them to assist in stopping a terrorist attack on a research base. As far as they knew, some lower ranking members of the former Brotherhood were responsible.

Bobby wasn't too worried. After all, they had taken on an army of mutants; so how bad could a couple of lower Class stragglers be? He was ready, and so was the rest of the team.

In the seat next to him sat Kitty Pryde or Shadowcat. She was playing around with a palm pilot and chewing gum. She had shown a high level of aptitude for computers and took quite a deal of pride in being the group's tech-wizard. Right now, she was viewing the outlay of the base they were headed for, preparing a holographic image to upload into their handheld units. She was really _good_ at that stuff, too.

The confrontation in San Francisco had changed the formerly vapid girl and she seemed to have matured overnight. Gone was the happy go lucky teeny-bopper and in her place was a self assured young woman.

She had started seeing Piotr on a regular basis, and the entire Institute had sat up and taken notice of the strange couple.

Colossus had also become a regular member of the team and Bobby was happy to work with the competent and calm Russian. The huge young man sat in the seat behind him, softly snoring. One would think he didn't know the meaning of nerves…

In the seat in front of Kitty sat another cold fish. Logan seemed to be more interested in fidgeting and groaning over his suit than in the mission ahead. Bobby ascribed this demeanour to Logan's 'kick ass first, ask questions never' mentality.

Storm was in the pilot's seat, preparing to land. She hadn't changed much, other than to become more driven and developing a strong mother's instinct.

"Final vector locked in, tower. Preparing to land," she was saying over the radio.

She turned to the team and declared: "We'll be on the ground in thirty seconds. Get ready."

While Kitty nudged Piotr awake and Logan got busy cracking his knuckles and neck, Bobby took several deep breaths and mentally prepared for violence.

The aircraft touched down, and on the tarmac several soldiers were waiting for them.

As they disembarked, an officer stepped forward to shake Storm's hand.

"Storm? I'm Captain Stanley Cooper. It's good to have you with us, ma'am."

_Here we go… Regular war heroes._

**TBC**

**A/N: **Here you are. Chapter two has arrived! **Please take the time to review!** Bear in mind, that this is my first attempt at a slash fic, and only my second multi chaptered story! Please tell me what you think! (Preferably more than one line, though…)

Thank you in advance.

**Ebon Hush**

**Next Time on Turning and Returning- Chapter 3: All Clear.**


	3. All Clear

**Disclaimer:** see chapter one.

**A/N:** sooo… long time no write? I don't abandon fics, I promise! Just keep the reviews coming…

Thank you to those of you who've already taken the time to write me! You rock!

**Turning and Returning.**

**Chapter 3: All Clear**

The X-Men broke into groups the moment they entered the compound. Shadowcat went with Colossus, Storm stayed with the jet to coordinate and handle communications, so that meant Bobby got stuck with the Wolverine.

_Super-duper, _the teenager thought wryly. The Wolverine and him were not a good team, the older man being too impulsive and Bobby being too cautious at times.

"Let's go kid," the Canadian growled, clearly itching for a fight. "We got the lower levels, Shadowcat and Colossus will cover the main floors; whoever takes down the first dirt-bag gets a free beer… Remember, I like Urquell, Frosty."

"Don't call me Frosty, man. You know I hate that; and what the hell is Urkwell anyways?" Bobby grumbled as he ran to catch up to the Mansion's resident blood hound.

"Heretic!" was all the reply he got as they hauled ass down the sterile corridors, passing room after room with a red 'LOCKDOWN' flashing on the security displays by the handles. According to the facility's own security team, all these rooms had real time video-monitors and had already been deemed 'clear' and locked.

As they ran down staircase after staircase they passed several hassled looking scientists heading for the exit, all being escorted by military personnel. The two mutants made great time, Logan looking for all the world like he knew where they were going. Of course, it didn't take Bobby long to realise that they were hopelessly lost.

"Logan," he panted. "Wolverine, wait. We're lost."

As the Canadian turned with an annoyed growl, Bobby got on the comm. and asked: "Storm, do you read? Storm?"

The radio only gave him static.

"I got nothing, Logan. We're off the grid."

"Damnit!" Logan yelled and put his fist clean through a wall.

"Okay, kid. You backtrack and try to get to somewhere _on _the damn grid, alright? I'll keep going."

Bobby started shaking his head.

"Logan, we can't. Storm told us to stay together."

"And you always do what you're told?" Logan scoffed.

_I swear, if the next thing out of his mouth is 'what, are ya scared?' I'm gonna freeze his cigar! _Bobby thought to himself in annoyance.

"What kid, are ya scared or somethin'?"

_I'm gonna kill him!_

"Get a move on, Iceman!"

"I'm goin' I'm goin'" he grumbled as he turned on his heel and jogged down the corridor.

He swore he could hear Logan gleefully calling 'here, crookie, crookie, crookie' but that might just be his pounding headache talking.

_I hate being paired with Logan._

And two years ago, he had been convinced he'd never meet any one as annoying as Pyro.

_I just jinxed the hell out of myself there, huh?_

**-()-**

For someone that had moved against the stream all his life, he'd never really developed an affinity for it.

"Move out of the blood… Goddamn way, people," he yelled, almost forgetting to use the proper authoritative low-octave Texan accent he had spent months acquiring when he was eighteen.

Scientists were pushing and shoving each other in their rush to get out of the building, seemingly forgetting their superior intellects in their hurry to follow the stampede.

"Warm blooded people… Effin' wankers one an' all."

Following the signal from the tracer unit on his wrist, he took a sharp turn to the left and down a deserted corridor. He skidded into the room just in time to see Mystique struggling to load an unconscious form onto a stretcher.

Toad still couldn't believe that the thin and barely human-looking person in her arms was the same idealistic, perpetual-motion teenager he had gotten pissed with on more than one occasion when Magneto and Mystique were out on missions.

Seeing Pyro at a distance and seeing him up close and personal were two entirely different things; Toad hadn't had the advantage of close-ups when he was standing in the crowd the day before.

"Bloody hell," he muttered as he grabbed Pyro's other arm and helped his blue skinned friend load their 'little brother' onto the wheeled contraption. The boy weighed nothing at all and Mystique's difficulty had only been because she hadn't wanted to jar the kid, he realised. His skin seemed like parchment – brittle and dry. He looked like an addict and the trace marks didn't help that impression.

"I heard radio traffic on my way down, luv," he informed his comrade. "The X-Men are in the compound right now. We've gotta hurry; we've been here too long."

"I'm aware of the time, Mortimer," Mystique snapped. "How the hell was I supposed to know that the idiot doctor was banging nurse Hatchetface in a closet? He completely messed up my schedule!"

Toad shook his head in exasperation. "Well, I hope you killed the wanker," he joked as he put the helmet and gasmask back on. Pointing to her face which was rapidly changing back to the shape of the good doctor, he grinned and continued. "A guy that god awfully borin' lookin' don't deserve ta live."

"Well, I'm glad you feel that way, Mortimer, 'cause he isn't… living that is," the assassin huffed as she started wheeling the gurney out of the room. "Now can we get a move on?"

As they moved at a hasty clip out of the room, Toad took a long whiff of air through the filter in the mask. "Ahh… panicked ordinaries, X-Men on our backs, ticked off military personnel with big bloody guns just waitin' for something to shoot at," he enthused. "You can almost smell the knock out gas."

Grimly taking up the old mantra, Mystique adopted the voice of a gruff older man, completely devoid of humour.

"I love the smell of napalm in the morning. Smells like… victory."

**-()-**

It had been ten minutes, and Bobby was still lost. He was out of comm. range for both Storm and Logan now, and he felt rather alone in the world. He had no idea of where anybody was, least of all himself, and it would be just his luck to finally make his way to the jet, only to find a smirking Logan and an impatient team waiting for the straggler.

_Actually, it would be just my luck to run into the terrorists…_

He really should know better than to jinx himself.

As he was moving around some corner or other, he ran into a soldier and a male doctor, escorting a wheeled stretcher at some speed.

As the two saw him approach they paused for a second before the doctor broke into a huge relieved grin.

"Thank God Almighty!" he exclaimed. "You're one of the X-Men aren't you?"

"Uh, yes sir. I'm Iceman. Have you seen anyone suspicious on your way here?" he asked, not really wanting to go down another hallway.

The doctor exchanged a look with his military escort and then shook his head. "No we did not actually," he answered with a regretful shake of his head, and then continued in a hopeful tone of voice.

"Maybe you could be of assistance? We need to make our way to the East helicopter pad, and I could really need the extra security."

The soldier looked somewhat shocked at this question, and turned so fast towards the doctor, Bobby thought his head might fall right off.

"Sir," he said in a Texan accent that was thicker than molasses. "I really don't think that will be necessary!"

"Nonsense!" the doctor replied in a voice that was not to be argued with. "We are transporting a very important test subject, whose condition must be kept stable. We need to get to the helicopter NOW, soldier!"

"As you say, sir."

"Now, young man," the medical expert said to Iceman. "Will you accompany us?"

"Yes sir, o-of course," Bobby stuttered. He was still out of breath, and confused as hell. He knew that he had an ice cube's chance in hell of finding the terrorists (no pun intended), so he might as well try to fulfil the secondary objective of the mission: protect the civilians.

As the three of them made their way down one identical corridor after another, Bobby kept his eyes peeled for trouble, but didn't see anything out of order. They were almost at the helipad as his comm. unit crackled to life and Logan's gruff voice sounded over the ether.

"…man. Come in, Iceman. Over."

"Roger that, Wolverine. Over."

He stopped for a second to adjust the earpiece and missed the look of alarm the doctor and the soldier shared.

"We. Are. Screwed," Toad mimed to his companion.

Mystique cursed to herself.

_Damn. Not Wolverine. If the boy even gives a squeak, we're done for! _

She was more than aware of the fact that Logan could smell her, no matter what form she entered. If he got anywhere near her he would know.

"I'm heading past your position now. Wild goose chase, if you ask me. Damn. I was sure I smelled Mystique earlier," Wolverine was complaining loud enough for all three of them to hear.

_Mystique? Oh no…_

Fearing the worst, Bobby turned in shock to his two 'charges,' only to find them both in defensive positions, the soldier with a gun pointed right between his eyes.

_Why aren't they attacking? _He wondered, and then his eyes almost involuntarily moved to the covered stretcher between them.

"Is everything clear on your end, Iceman?"

_Oh, hell no! _his mind screamed. He said nothing.

Almost in slow motion, his hand moved to the sheet and moved it to one side.

_Oh, God…_

Bobby closed his eyes.

_Fuck, Johnny. Are you alive in there?_

If it wasn't for the slow rise and fall of Pyro's chest, he would have thought that no, no one could look like that and still be among the living. The bruises, the _burn-marks? _There was hardly one inch of visible skin that was untouched.

His shocked reaction didn't go unnoticed.

"They'll kill him, Iceman," Mystique said, her voice almost pleading.

At the same time, Logan's growl sounded again, this time a bit more clearly.

"Iceman, are you clear?"

He looked from the assassin to the stretcher and back again.

_I can't believe I'm doing this! Shit!_

"Iceman! Are you CLEAR?"

He swallowed.

Mystique just stood there, looking at him as though she knew he would do the right thing.

_Damn it…_

"Yeah, Logan. All clear," he said, his voice shaky.

It was as if the tension was forcefully pulled from the area. The soldier relaxed his stance, lowering the gun and Mystique breathed a near inaudible sigh.

Bobby didn't quite know what to do, as they covered Pyro back up and prepared to move out. Finally, he placed a hesitant hand on the 'soldier's shoulder.

"Tell him that I'm sorry," he whispered and who ever was behind the gas mask nodded.

_I'll never see him again, _he thought dejectedly, and then another thought hit him. _What the hell am I doing? They are criminals, for god's sake. Of course I'll see him again – across another battlefield._

He knew that Pyro would go right back to fighting, it wasn't in his nature to go undercover and retire. He knew that he was letting a killer go free. Still he did nothing but watch the two terrorists walk away with his former friend.

He was about to turn and go look for Logan as his earpiece activated again, the volume still much too high.

"Iceman, redirect to East Helipad. Search has been called off. We found their vehicle," Storm said over the speakers.

Everybody paused.

Bobby could only watch in near panic as two of the deadliest individuals known to man turned towards him, seemingly of one mind.

He was preparing to raise his hands, freeze over in defence… something, when suddenly he was looking down the barrels of two nine millimetre handguns.

_They use guns now?_ was all his mind saw fit to provide him with. _Not fair._

"Just take it easy, mate," soldier guy said, almost gently. "You're coming with us."

_Oh, hell._

**-()-**

The X-Men and military were stationed around the slate grey chopper that had been hidden by a cloaking device until a few minutes ago.

Kitty's scanner had picked up the energy signature and rigged an electronic jamming device. It covered the entire outer half of the helipad, forcing Storm to stand well back to let the comm. unit work. The entire compound had been shut down tighter than a Fort Knox and the terrorists 'only egress point was the one they were now guarding.

"Where the hell is that kid?" Logan muttered, while flexing his hands. The mutant standing next to the weather goddess was aching for a fight and was rather curious as to who the terrorists could be.

As they watched the big Star Wars type blast doors that lead to the helipad hissed open and Iceman walked through, followed by Iceman? And Iceman?

"What the hell?"

Three absolutely identical young men walked through the doors in a tight cluster around a stretcher on wheels. Logan didn't have to guess who two of the 'Bobby Drake's were: Bobby and Mystique.

_So much for the damn cure! But who the hell is the third?_

He heard the clicks of a dozen or so rifles and threw out his hands shouting: "Nobody shoot! One of them is ours!"

_But which one?_

The options were limited by a third, as the trio crossed into the range of Kitty's jamming device. One of the Bobbys seemed to blur and became a guy clad in full military riot gear.

"Bloody 'ell!" The soldier exclaimed and looked around frantically. "Jamming device!" he yelled, spotting Kitty behind her computer and then he raised his own pistol and fired.

"Catya, No!" Piotr yelled and tried to throw himself in the way of the bullets. He wasn't fast enough and the projectiles smashed squarely into the hard drive of his girlfriend's laptop.

"Go, go, go," both the real soldiers and the fake one were yelling as all hell broke loose.

The fake dropped the pistol and crouched, a telescopic quarter staff appearing in his hands instead.

_Toad! _Logan realised. _Back from the dead._

Storm was still shouting "don't shoot" as she started hovering and clouds began to gather at an alarming rate.

One of the two remaining Bobbys grabbed the other by the scruff of the neck and tossed him head first into the rapidly cloaking helicopter. The Bobby that was Mystique then tossed whoever was on the stretcher over her shoulder and sprinted into the cockpit.

"Mortimer!"

"Start 'er up!" the 'soldier' responded while leaping into the air, spin kicking one soldier and slamming the staff into visor of another. "I'll hold them up… For a while."

Wolverine was running full tilt towards the chopper and its passengers, closely followed by Colossus and what seemed like half the US army.

The green-skinned mutant had lost the helmet by now and was spinning and kicking, GIs falling left and right. He had a relaxed smile on his face that seemed rather maniacal and Logan would have been creeped out had it not matched his own so closely.

"Hey, Frog-Boy," he yelled. "Come get some!"

At the same time, someone opened fire while yelling: "Hostage out of danger! The Wolverine is bullet proof, the other one isn't!"

A veritable hail storm of lead started pelting into the tarmac and Toad nimbly dodged to the side with a pained curse and disappeared behind some crates. Logan took several hits and went to one knee in pain.

_I heal fast, you bastards, I'm not fucking impenetrable!_

The helicopter started to lift off, almost completely cloaked by now.

"No!" Logan shouted and tried to make his way to the aircraft.

"Oh, no ya don't!" a British voice yelled and suddenly something heavy landed on his back, bringing him back to his knees.

The Wolverine looked up just in time to realise that he had been used as a spring-board by a now nearly airborne Toad. As he watched in wonder, the amphibian mutant reached the helicopter and made his way inside, closing the door after him.

The chopper was gone.

As the military kept wasting bullets at a now invisible target, Logan pounded his fist into the asphalt and cursed.

"Goddamnit!"

_Oh God. Bobby. We've lost him. _

**TBC**

**A/N: DUNDUNDUNNNN!!!!**

Please! Take the time to **review**! I will reply to every one of you who does, I promise. But if you would be so kind as to write more than one sentence? Reviews are supposed to contain some kind of critique, positive or negative.

Tell me you opinions, good or bad. I can take it!

**Next on Turning and Returning. Chapter 4: Never Been Here, (How About You?)**


	4. Never Been Here

**Disclaimer: **See chapter one.

**A/N:** Ahh… I love the summer holidays! I have time to write!

**Warning (kind of):** An original character will join the cast in this chapter, but before you leave in anger know that it's not a female, and it's not a 'super-ultra-powerful-beautiful-me'- type character. It is a male and necessary to the plot, I think. (At least if we want Johnny boy to wake up again)

So without further ado, please check it out and enjoy!

**Turning and Returning**

**Chapter 4: Never Been Here (How About You?)**

Mystique leaned back in the solid metal chair and sighed, waiting for the mainframe to wake up from hibernation. It had been four hours now, since their daring rescue at the military facility, and Pyro hadn't woken up yet. The drugs she had used were only supposed to be good for a couple of hours, just enough for them to reach the Brotherhood back-up compound where they were now.

Something wasn't right.

Toad was putting the injured teenager in the infirmary, while she had gone to Control to look for help after placing Iceman in a holding cell.

The dark control room smelled musty from disuse and the air had a stale tang to it. She cleared her throat and ran a hand over her once-again red hair.

Mystique had missed being her self in the months she had been human. She had been overjoyed the day she had looked herself in the mirror, expecting by then pale skin, black hair and blue eyes, and seen instead a slight wave of blue rippling across her face.

She had felt powerful again.

_Fat lot of good all that power does, _she thought irritably, absolutely refusing to admit to herself that she was worried.

Neither she nor Toad had medical training. Sure, they knew basic triage; they were accustomed to fixing bullet holes and setting broken bones, but the operation of advanced medical equipment was far beyond their capabilities. She had put out a call over the radio for any Brotherhood members who would know what to do as soon as they were in the air, but she hadn't gotten an answer. It would seem that every single mutant that had survived Alcatraz had gone to ground. That left only the ones who hadn't been on the island in the first place; those unable - or unwilling to fight.

The computer finally 'bleeped' to life, and she sat forward again and ran her fingers over the aluminium keys thinking hard.

_Who to call? Scanner? No, he can't be trusted. He was too bitter when he was replaced._

The German mutant, Scanner, had been a paramedic and good with things like this. He was a real whiz at diagnosing, being able to at a glance to tell what was wrong with a body. Unfortunately, he had been pushed from his position in the organisation when the Phoenix had joined them.

Mystique snorted derisively. Scanner never seemed to get the memo that, to Magneto, they were all expendable.

He had been so sure of himself and his importance to the Brotherhood, so his replacement had really smarted. He had become bitter and angry, destroying half of the med lab in the main facility in the woods before he had stormed out. Magneto hadn't bothered to stop him, so now that resource was inaccessible to them.

_Damn… Who else is there? Think, think, think._

She absently bit her thumb nail, accidentally ripping it to the quick.

She winced at the sharp flare of pain.

_Pain. That's it, _she thought and reached once more for the metallic keyboard.

Accessing a search engine online, she typed in a name and looked through the results until she got to the one she was looking for. No cell phone was listed, only a business number.

_I hope he remembers that he owes me one…_

She picked up the satellite phone from its holder and stared at it for a moment before she resolutely punched in the number.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

_Come on, pick up._

'Riiing, riiing, rriii…'

"Purgatory, how may I help you?"

At the sound of the polite, slightly accented male voice, the blue skinned assassin exhaled in relief.

"October sixth, Azrael," she said.

The other end of the line went silent for a moment.

She knew that calling the former probationary Brotherhood member was a gamble, as his time in the organisation hadn't ended on the best of terms.

Five years ago, a fifteen year old boy had taken one look at the initiation assignment given to him by Magneto and then, not so politely, told the older man to 'sit on it and rotate'. It was only with her interference that he had been allowed to leave alive. He hadn't thanked her, though; years of bitter betrayal had created a very angry and mistrustful young man. He wouldn't be too glad to hear from her, she knew. To his mind, she had betrayed him just as everybody else had.

"Mystique? Is that you?"

"No, Garrett my dear. It's the_ other_ person who saved your life and to whom that date means something," she quipped, disguising her wince at his aggressive tone.

"What the hell are you…?"

"I need a return favour, Azrael. Can you get to Beta Site ASAP?"

"Look… I don't do that sort of thing anymore. I won't, you know that," he grumbled, his voice sounding half firm and half pleading.

She shook her head as he spoke, and nodded shortly to Toad who limped into the room and collapsed in a chair with a half muted curse.

"It's nothing like before, G," she assured the young man on the other end of the line.

At her words, Toad straightened a little and mouthed 'Azreal' at her. She nodded.

"Damn…" the English mutant mumbled and sat back with his arms crossed and an expectant look on his face.

Mystique continued her explanation.

"We have a guy in a coma. He's been tortured and almost killed, and I need you to get over here and _help_ him."

"A 'guy'?" Azrael repeated doubtfully. "You mean a terrorist, right?" his voice rose in anger. "I have a life now, and you're asking me to get involved in that shit again? That's not fucking fair!"

Toad could obviously hear him, because he flinched and ran a frustrated hand though his short muddy-green hair.

"He's a friend of mine, Garrett, and he won't wake up. We don't know what to do. You owe me," Mystique exclaimed, then checked her temper and added: "Please."

It might have been the 'please' that did it, she later thought.

Azrael's voice sounded resigned as he sighed.

"Is Magneto there?"

"No, he isn't. We don't work with him anymore."

"Alright. I'll be there. Come pick me up at the old airstrip in… oh, two hours?"

She closed her eyes in relief.

_Yes…_

"I will. Thank you."

"Whatever, Mystique," was the response. "I do _not_ appreciate the guilt trip, and I swear, if you're playing me, I'll make you wish you were never born."

"I have no doubt. See you later, Garrett."

The conversation ended with a 'click' as Azrael hung up.

"I can't believe you're calling _him_ in, of all people!" Toad said immediately after she had put the receiver down.

"Of all people?" she responded tiredly. "What people, Mortimer? There is no one else left."

"You mean that ungrateful little upper-crust nancy boy is our only chance? Damn…"

"I know you don't like him, Mort. He'll do the job and go home. That's it."

Toad leaned even further back in the incredibly uncomfortable metal chair sulkily.

"Well…I guess I can stomach the little runt for a few days for Pyro."

"Good… How is he doing?" Mystique asked tiredly.

Mortimer shrugged.

"'E's breathin'. Other than that? No idea."

The female mutant got out of her chair with a graceful rolling motion and stretched all six foot-one of her body.

"I'm going to check on our boys. You should get some rest."

She gave Toad a hand up and they parted ways. She moved at a silent glide down the echoing lead-lined hallways, confidently navigating her way to the holding cells.

She found Iceman in the one farthest from the entrance. The teenager was sitting with his legs crossed on the metal bunk, a look of concentration on his face. He seemed to be trying to meditate or something.

Mystique deliberately scuffed a foot on the floor to alert him to her presence without startling him.

Blue eyes opened and stared at her in trepidation. The look of fear was quickly covered though and he raised his head and stood up to face her silently.

"Iceman," she began evenly. "I hope you find the facilities adequate?" She noticed an open can of something or other on the floor next to the bunk.

_Toad must have fed him before coming to Control. Good._

The X-man took a moment before he answered.

"They're fine, thank you," he answered politely, going on in a little more tense tone. "I would like to know what you're planning to do with me, though."

_Good question._

"What do you think, X-Man?" she answered.

A look of near terror flitted across his handsome even features, but he remained quiet, and the assassin suddenly realised that she didn't really want to kill this one. The kid had spunk, and she believed Pyro wouldn't be all that pleased if she terminated his old friend.

She remembered that the first couple of weeks he had been with them, Pyro had talked of nothing but 'Iceman this' and 'Bobby that'. His bitching and moaning had driven most of the elder Brotherhood members up the wall, but she had understood perfectly. She was after all a student of human nature. Their newest member was lonely; he had just walked out on the only friend he'd ever had.

Mystique had tried filling the void with training and exercise and in time, she had gotten through to him. Little by little, her pupil had forgotten about Bobby and the mansion; he had forgotten about 'John'.

In time, there had only been Pyro.

She wasn't too proud of it, but it had been necessary. The weak did not survive in the Brotherhood.

And Pyro had been anything but weak… at least when he was awake and conscious. When he was sleeping, though… Well, his room had been next to hers. She had heard him tossing and turning at night, had heard him talking in his sleep.

Mystique looked at the silent young man in front of her.

_What's so special about this boy? _she wondered. There had to be something there she didn't see.

"Why did you let us go, Iceman?" she asked.

The X-man thought about it and then shrugged.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," he said lightly with a wry look at his surroundings. "Now, I'm not so sure."

"You did the right thing," Mystique said not unkindly, appreciating his dry sense of humour. "He has a chance of survival now, thanks to you,"

Bobby gave a start at her words, and the small smile left his face.

"A chance?" he said, voice breaking slightly. "I thought he was just drugged?"

His concerned look explained a few things to her.

_Interesting…_

Her attitude mellowed a bit more and she leaned against the bars of his cell-door, giving him her side, which for her was a sign of border-line trust.

"So did we," she shrugged. "But the tranquilizer I gave him should have worn off by now, and he still hasn't woken up. We've called in assistance, but until it gets here, we have no idea what's wrong with him," she admitted.

"Can I see him?" He looked sad and solemnly hopeful.

Mystique was torn. Letting her powerful prisoner out of the cell went against every last of the paranoid instincts that had kept her alive for so long, but then again…

Snippets of touchy-feely talk of comatose patients and the voices of friends and loved ones flitted through her mind.

_What the hell… it can't hurt._

"You are a man of your word, I believe," she finally said, examining his face closely as he nodded. "I have you word that you won't try to attack me or try to escape?"

"I won't cause trouble. You have my word, Mystique. I just want to see him, please."

"All right, Iceman. You can see him."

"Thank you."

She went to the hidden panel next to the cell door and typed in the complex code followed by a hand print scan. The bars slid open.

"He's in the infirmary down the hall, up two floors and to the right," she explained. "I have to go and pick someone up, but Toad is still here. Be a good boy, now."

"I will."

Mystique turned and left the X-Man behind, heading for the garage where spare vehicles were kept. On the way she wondered what the hell she was doing. She had just given an enemy free reign of the compound.

_You're getting soft in your old days, Mystique, _she thought to herself as she got into the driver's seat of the silver grey SUV and shifted into the form of a middle aged black man, completely nondescript.

She checked the rear view mirror and pulled out into drizzling rain. The sun was setting into a strangely ominous red horizon. The air field was a good hour's drive away and she looked forward to the peaceful monotony of the dark road ahead.

**-()-**

Bobby stood in the doorway to the infirmary, looking in. The constant 'screech' of an overheated phosphor light cut through the silence and into his eardrums like a razor. He didn't like that sound, not one bit.

John was lying on a metal bed, covered by an electrical heating blanket. Bobby couldn't see his chest move and the annoying buzz blanked out any sound of breathing there might be. For all the world, the pyrokinetic could be dead right then and Bobby wouldn't have known.

The screeching had to go, so Iceman walked into the room, picked up one of the aluminium chairs and moved it into position under the guilty phosphor tube. He clambered onto his impromptu ladder and chilled his hand, putting it on the distributor, cooling it down and ending the offending sound.

The silence reigned supreme then, but he still couldn't hear John breathing. Was he already dead?

Panic gripped him.

He hadn't exactly answered Mystique's question earlier, as to why he had let them go, but not because he didn't know the answer. It was… private that was all. He had taken one look at John on that TV screen and realised that his friend – yes, for some reason, his friend still – was dying. The finality of the word had hit him like a ton of bricks the moment it had entered his head.

Dying.

Dead.

'Dead' meant no more fighting, no more competing for supremacy, true… but it also meant the end of the patented quirky John Allerdyce humour and the late nights sitting up, planning to take over the world one bad pick-up line at the time. Although, to be fair, the last had ended with the introduction of Rogue into their lives, along with their close friendship, 'dead' meant no chance of reconciliation – not ever.

"He's still alive, Frosty."

The strange voice from the doorway had him turning on his heel, narrowly escaping a bad tumble from the chair. Toad lifted an eyebrow at his shocked expression and grinned.

"Don't call me Frosty," Bobby said on pure reflex.

The Brotherhood member continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"The thermal blanket's rigid, so it won't touch his chest. I made it that way, you know, to avoid aggravatin' his injuries, and the acoustics in here is right terrible, so even if 'e was snorin' ya wouldn't hear it."

Standing on that chair, Bobby couldn't help feeling a little ridiculous. And hearing his fears repeated out loud like that made him feel vulnerable. He didn't enjoy feeling transparent, especially not in front of an enemy. He lightly jumped off the metal contraption and Toad clapped his hands slowly three times.

"Excellent balance," he said appreciatively. "I could work with that... if you weren't on the other team, so to speak."

"Thanks, but no thanks, Toad," Bobby said, trying not to be intimidated by the killer who was now walking toward him with the gliding steps of a martial artist. "I'm not interested in 'switching teams' as it were."

"Never said you were, mate," Toad responded calmly, laying a hand on Bobby's arm and leading him to the bed. "See, we don' _have_ a team – not anymore. We're more of a… mutual support group now."

"Like a brotherhood?" Bobby couldn't help but remark. Something about the shorter man's superior calm irked him.

Toad gave him a look and then turned his eyes to the still form under the blanket.

"Yeah, like a brotherhood. We take care of our own, as best we can, anyway." The English mutant smoothed down a crease in the sheet and shook his head.

"I just wish… Nevermind. You wanted to see him? Go ahead, then. You have a couple of hours before Azrael gets here."

Bobby's head shot up at that name.

"Azrael? Like in 'angel of death' Azrael? What kind of a name is that for a doctor?"

"Never said he was a doctor, now did I?"

"But Mystique said you were bringin' in help!"

"We are," Toad replied with an easy smile that pissed Bobby right off.

"You better explain yourself, then," Bobby growled.

How Toad could joke at a time like that was beyond him and he was slowly starting to see red. John had always thought it was hysterical the way people thought _he_ was the hot tempered one. Sure, John got angry quickly, but Bobby was the one who could _really_ fly into a rage.

Toad seemed to be utterly unimpressed, though.

"I don't owe you an explanation, lad, but Pyro seemed to think you were worth his while and he spoke highly of you, so I'm goin' ta give you one anyway," he said and continued in a low dangerous voice. "Now shut yer yap an' pay attention."

The amphibian mutant turned towards the chair Bobby had stood on and opened his mouth. His tongue shot out and wrapped around the arm rest and pulled it towards them. Spinning it on one leg, he sat down back to front, withdrew the appendage and leaned forward, his arms crossed across the back.

Bobby made a valiant effort not to gag at the slightly icky sight and sat down on the edge of the bed, adopting his 'I'm in class and paying attention' face.

"Now listen," Toad began. "Azrael is a Class Four bio-manipulator. He's got very fine control; so fine in fact, that he can target the nervous-system. Magneto discovered him about ten years ago, when rumours were flying in Chicago about this new Arabian mob boss whose enemies had a tendency to end up insane or catatonic."

Now Bobby was interested. He'd never heard of a 'bio-manipulator' before.

"Now, it took us a while to get to the bottom of it, five years in fact. I mean, their organisation was tight; but eventually Mystique got in and found this kid, no older than fifteen. His dad, the big man, had been using him as a torturer. Turns out the boy could play someone's pain-receptors like a bloody string instrument."

"My god…" Bobby breathed.

"God had nothin' to do with it, mate," Toad snorted. "This bastard was using his son as an executioner, keeping him in a small room and only letting him out to 'work'. Kid didn't know his own name before we told him; he didn't even know the mobster was his father – he'd always been called 'Azrael' by his 'employer'. Magneto offered him a better world an' all that. But…"

"But?"

"Magneto wanted a warrior. So he tried to train the boy, to mould him. Turned out the boy was stronger than he thought, though, and didn't really want to be a killer anymore."

"Good for him," Bobby stated. He liked the idea of someone being able to break free of the web Magneto was so skilled at weaving. Maybe… just maybe, John had been lead astray as well?

"Yeah… Garrett's in medical school now. We paid for it, me an' Mystique, so he owes us, and he knows it. It wasn't easy gettin' him out of here after he told Magneto to take a long walk off a short cliff."

"He really said that?"

Toad smiled. "Not in so many words, but that was the gist of it, I think. I don't speak Arabian."

"Awesome." Bobby tilted his head in wonder. "But Garrett isn't a very Arabian name is it?"

"Naw… 'Is mum was English. His full name is Garrett Al Fadil or somethin'."

Bobby turned back to look at John. "I think I'd like that guy. He reminds me of John."

Toad scoffed at that and shook his head, looking at his 'little brother'.

"Pyro? Pyro's a soldier, through an' through. He never once questioned an order while he was here. Not once."

Toad looked him in the eye. "I wonder if you know him as well as you think, Iceman."

Bobby didn't quite know what to think or say to that.

A part of him knew that Toad was right. The John he thought he knew would have walked of that plane, sure, but he would never have jumped ship like that. The John _he_ knew would never have struck out at him with the full intention to kill.

Bobby remembered well the pure rage that had burned in the eyes that had met his that night at Alcatraz. John hadn't been there, only Pyro.

Noticing the young mutant's look of sorrow and confusion, Toad got up and stretched a bit. Those chairs really were damn uncomfortable.

"I'll leave you to it, then," he said and walked away, leaving Bobby with his thoughts and memories of happier days.

**-()-**

The rain was still pouring down when Mystique reached the tiny air strip. The road had been all but flooded and she had lost time going slowly to avoid skidding off the slick, pockmarked asphalt. As she pulled up to the shack that functioned as a terminal she noticed that all the lights were off in the building and a sign with the words 'closed for repairs' pinned on the door.

The street lights were pretty much all broken, only two still trying to illuminate the gloom. As she got out of the SUV, the freezing water hit her face with stinging intensity.

_I wished the damn weather would make up its mind, _she grumbled internally, pulling up the collar of her trench coat and looking around. It seemed like the drought was finally over, and Mother Nature had decided to end the show with a 'bang'.

"You're late, Mystique."

She whipped around, prepared for action, squinting into the darkness by the side of the road. A form materialised from the shadows cast by a big oak tree.

"Garrett?" she asked and straightened from her near-crouch.

"No, it's the _other_ wet and miserable guy who was all but forced to come here, you guilt tripping bitch," the figure all but snarled.

"Garrett," she stated with certainty. That amount of sheer vitriol could belong to no other person.

The person walking toward her was a bit taller than she remembered: about six feet - and wore a black leather coat that reached ankles encased in heavy black boots. As he got closer to her she noted with some surprise that he'd dyed his chin-length hair black and wore what looked like eyeliner around his brown eyes.

"You going Goth, Garrett? A bit stereotypical 'teenage-angst' don't you think?" she asked with a smirk. "Aren't you a bit old for that?"

The dark haired mutant shot her a glare and growled: "None of your fucking business, bitch. Now get me to the fucking car. I'm drowning here."

"Charming as always, I see," she mumbled and held her hand out for him to lead the way. "After you, your Majesty."

"Fuck off."

_Oh, yeah. He's a regular ray of sunshine and cheer…_

"So… how did you get here?" she asked.

"Friend dropped me off."

They got into the SUV and Garrett flipped down the mirror in the sun screen in front of him and wiped off the makeup.

"I was working, when you called," he said, seeming to have calmed down a bit out of the rain. He had never liked the sound of running water for some reason.

"Oh yeah," she said. "Club Purgatory, right? Is that a Goth club or what?"

Garrett looked at her.

"Or what," he said.

"Hmm?"

"It's an S&M club."

"You running it or… entertaining?"

He laughed at that, the brittle sound sending shivers up and down her spine.

"No need to sound so disapproving; you're not my mother. I work there, and I make a lot of money."

"We paid to send you through medical school…" she started

"And that money has never been touched," he retorted, interrupting her. "I owe you my life already, and I'm paying off that debt tonight. Do you really think that I would tie myself to anyone ever again? You don't own me, no one does!"

"Says the guy who evidently sells himself every night!" she shot back. "What the hell happened to you? You had a chance of a normal life; why didn't you take it?"

Garrett looked at his hands that were clasped in front of him. He didn't say anything, just sat there, while his longish hair dripped water onto them.

"Garrett?"

He finally mumbled something.

"What was that?" she asked.

"I need it, the pain," he said a little louder, without looking up.

"You're a masochist?" Mystique asked, surprised.

"No, if only," he sighed and leaned his head back on the car seat, still not looking at her. "I need to… hurt people. I'm addicted, it would seem." He chuckled without humour. "I go to meetings and everything."

"Oh," was all she could think of to say. "Well… we'd better get moving."

She put the car in gear and turned up the heater to max, when she noticed that Garrett wore nothing beneath the coat other than a pair of vinyl pants and a net top.

_We were too late to help him, then, _she thought. _Seems to be a theme lately._

**-()-**

**TBC**

**A/N: **I'm sorry, but I had to end it there. I know this chapter was all talk and exposition, but I hope to have Pyro wake up in the next chapter or so to make up for it.

I realise that I'm bringing in an original character, but the Brotherhood was decimated at Alcatraz and I need to flesh out the cast a bit. If you don't like it, then let me know and I'll have him leave again or something; this story is for you, after all, and you get to call some of the shots.

I don't plan on having any Mary Sues (hate 'em, I do) and no OC will play a part of a romance with any of the canon characters. Also, no OC will be a main character in this story; it's about the four characters: Mort, Mystique, John and Bobby. In fact, I plan on having only male OC's if I add any more.

The title is from the song 'You make it easy' by Air.

As always, please review! Especially as this is the first real venture I've made into the realm of OC's. Let me know and preferably in more than one sentence!

**Ebon Hush**


	5. Still

**Disclaimer: Is Pyro gay? No? Guess I don't own him, then. Or anyone else, for that matter. Sigh.**

**A/N:** So many things caused the lateness of this chapter – don't get me started.

**Turning and Returning.**

**Chapter 5: Still.**

Mort was waiting when they pulled into the compound. He stood leaning against the cold stone wall, scowling as a familiar figure got out from the passenger seat and stretched. The kid had grown in a bit; he wasn't quite as gaunt as he had been and a new sense of menace and aggression was practically radiating off him.

_Fabulous… pain-inducing teenager with an attitude. Fun, _he thought to him self.

Azrael was looking around with a barely covered look of discomfort. This place held no pleasant memories for him, Mort knew. As dark eyes zoned in on his dark corner an eyebrow rose and the accented, cultured voice Mort had come to loathe sounded through the gloom.

"Toad, I've had a long trip and I'm too tired for theatrics… Even if there was no light, I'd still be able to pick up on your biomass, so can we drop the dramatic 'appearance'?"

Mort could all but hear Mystique's head begin to ache. She'd never had the patience for the male grandstanding all the Brotherhood members seemed to be addicted to.

"Lovely to see you too, laddie," he said and stepped out into the beams of the car's head lights.

"I'm sure."

As she shifted back into her original form, earning a blink and a shiver from Garrett at the change in her physical make up, Mystique shook her head in irritation and hissed: "Can we get on with this, gentlemen? We have and injured brother to look after, if you please."

She resolutely led the way out of the room, expecting her young guest to follow. She was a woman with a mission, and she absolutely refused to acknowledge the dour 'You mean _you_ have' from Azrael. The boy had always flatly refused to consider himself a part of the organisation, even when he technically had been.

The three mutants walked down the corridors, Mystique briefing the bio-manipulator up front and Toad silently stalking behind them, his limp less pronounced now than it had been. The amphibian was probably covering it up, she thought; he hated showing any kind of weakness in front of people he didn't trust (which basically amounted to everybody, minus her).

He should have known better.

As she reached a pause in her description of the Tourniquet and its functions, Garrett glanced behind him and eyed Mortimer.

"Bullet wound?"

"It's no big thing, lad. Focus on the job at hand, will you?" Toad grumbled, straightening even more.

"I would, see, but you're radiating and I'm getting kinda high."

The boy did look like he had been on the receiving end of a joint… or seven. He had a look of lazy relaxation and his eyes seemed a bit unfocused.

"You really are a freak, aren't you?" Mortimer said, not even trying to mask his look of revulsion.

At his words, Mystique turned in alarm, knowing very well the reaction Toad's statement would cause.

"Garret, no!" she exclaimed too late as Toad crumpled to the ground with a pained groan. Barely visible waves of shivers moved through her friend as his nerve endings reached super-sensitivity, reacting violently to the already present pain. Garrett couldn't cause pain at a distance; he needed physical contact for that, but augmenting sensitivity? As long as he had line of sight, no problem.

"Don't push me, frog-man," Azrael hissed and locked his gaze with Toad's, both men's eyes burning with intensity.

"Enough!" Mystique shouted and stood between them, breaking the line of sight.

Instantly, Garrett's eyes landed on her and blanked over in indifference. He didn't spare a single glance at Toad as the amphibian mutant got to his feet and made a move to come closer.

"You too, Toad," she said with icy authority without even looking behind her. Years of working with Mortimer had made her acutely aware of his every move and she knew what his immediate reaction to this situation would be: attack, even if he was wounded.

"We have no time for this shit! Opposite corners, right now, or so help me, I will reintroduce you both to _my_ kind of pain!" she ground out.

"Whatever," Garrett muttered with a shrug. Toad scowled and heaved a deep breath through his nose trying to bring his temper under control.

Turning her glare to the young man in front of her, she grabbed the lapels of his leather coat and got up in his face.

"If Toad's wound is so distracting, maybe you should be a good little twelve-stepper and _end_ it?" she suggested sweetly.

"Fine…"

She let go of the bio-manipulator and he stepped around her, approaching a stubbornly immovable Toad. The amphibian would be damned if he cowered away from a punk kid who was too self-important for his own good – even if said punk freaked the hell out of him.

Garrett motioned to the wall and said: "Sit your ass down, then. I need to get the bullet out and your muscles are blocking the trajectory when you stand."

Grumbling to himself, Toad made his way to the wall and sat down gingerly, his wound having been so recently inflamed. It felt as though someone had taken an acid-dipped sledgehammer to his leg, trying to burrow it right through the narrow entry wound.

Garrett kneeled in front of him and closed his eyes. Instantly Toad's pain evaporated as the young man deadened every pain receptor and nerve in his leg.

Getting a feel for the injury, Garrett poked around a bit a frown of concentration on his face.

"High calibre rifle round… nice."

"Just get on with it, please," Mystique said behind him.

Toad was able to watch in detached fascination as the flesh around the wound undulated and stretched, the bloody bullet slowly becoming visible and falling to the ground with a moist 'clink'. After that, it was a matter of minutes before the wound was all but gone.

"You want a scar there?" Azrael asked him, hands hovering over the barely visible wound.

"Rather not, thanks," he breathed.

"'Kay."

Five seconds later, the hole was gone as if it had never been there and he could feel his leg again, minus the pain.

Azrael picked up the piece of shrapnel and turned it in his hand, but then he shivered slightly, head tilting as if he was listening for something.

"You've gotten faster, Garrett," Mystique said in obvious approval. When the young man didn't answer she repeated: "Garrett?"

The bio-manipulator had a distant look in his eyes, staring into the middle distance, staring at nothing.

"Azrael?"

"Oh, my…" Brown eyes fluttered closed in bliss.

"What is it, Garrett?"

"I can feel him from here," he breathed.

**-()-**

The silence in the infirmary had reached an almost oppressive level the moment Toad had left the room. Bobby had reluctantly pulled up the same chair the Brotherhood member had used, carefully avoiding the slimy bit on the back.

It wasn't often he'd had a chance to really look at John, seeing as the other mutant was rarely if ever still. Bobby thought he remembered a camping trip a few years ago, where they'd shared a tent; Pyro hadn't even been this still when he was sleeping, but now… now he was. There was no movement, not a twitch, not even a flutter. Pyro's face seemed to have locked itself into a slight distressed frown.

It hadn't taken many moments for the ambience to sink in and turn the moment of reflection and study into something much more sinister. Bobby had beginning to notice things he'd never seen before: faint white lines on the back of far too thin hands, circular burn scars on shoulders and chest, a small nearly invisible indentation right beneath his lower lip.

_I guess he had a piercing? Must have taken it out before I came to the Institute._

Now, almost three hours later, Bobby was beginning to feel the strain of the last twenty or so hours. His thoughts were beginning to wander and he couldn't seem to hold on to anything for very long at a time.

_I wonder who this Azrael guy really is. I wonder if he'll be able to heal him. _

The flesh around the Tourniquet had become highly inflamed and Bobby thought he could actually see a little wet blood under the metal that covered the back of John's neck. Pyro was sweating heavily and now small shakes seemed to make their way across his body every few seconds.

_Should I try to cool that down, I wonder?_

He had gotten up, found a clean cloth, cooled it down and was about to put it on the aggravated skin when a somewhat slurred upper crust voice sounded from the doorway.

"You don't want to be doing that."

Bobby turned away from John's bed and towards the doorway, where a dark silhouette stood leaned against the jamb.

"Why not?" he asked sceptically. His mother was a nurse and her remedy for fever had always been cooling down. He stood up and took a second look at the tall guy who had spoken.

He was about Bobby's age, maybe a bit older. He was about an inch taller than Iceman but more slender. His stance was relaxed and aggressive at the same time as all Brotherhood members seemed to be.

"Any change in temperature could cause a shock reaction, that's why," the guy answered.

"You must be Azrael?" Bobby asked with a raised eyebrow. The guy certainly didn't look like a doctor, so he could see why Toad had scoffed as his suggestion that he was. He looked more like the lead singer in a punk rock band. He was swaying softly as though he was drunk. At Bobby's words, however, he straightened.

"What's it to you, X-Man?" he asked uncrossing his arms and walking calmly toward the bed in the middle of the room. "So this is Pyro, huh?" he asked. "The great warrior… he isn't much to look at, is he?"

"You should talk, beanstalk."

"Heh. You don't have to defend your little boyfriend, X-Man. Now get the hell out and let me work."

"What's wrong with him?"

"I won't know that until you let me have some room to concentrate," Azrael said, stopping in front of the shorter teen and severely invading his personal space. Bobby instantly felt acutely uncomfortable.

"Oh… okay. I'm Iceman, by the way," he mumbled, holding out a hand, reasoning that it was never a bad thing to be on good terms with a healer.

Azrael walked by him.

"I'm sure you are, now get out," was the cold and uninterested reply he received from the slightly older mutant who didn't even turn his head as he dismissed him.

_Jeez… bad temper much?_

"Kay. I'm leaving. Will you let me know if…"

"OUT!"

Bobby turned and walked away.

**-()-**

Garrett watched the blue eyed boy leave the room with a grimace.

_Goddamn goody two-shoes._

"Well… let's see what we have here," he mumbled, pulling off his coat and leaning over the bed, where the pale teenager lay prone. He looked more dead than alive and the pain radiating off the unconscious boy hit him like a freight train.

_That could have been me. _

"That's some kind of trouble you've got yourself in, kid."

He closed his eyes against the intoxicating emanations of pain and tried to focus his attention. Casting his powers into the body in front of him, he began a thorough examination of everything from nervous system to muscle mass, taking his time.

After a good while he opened his eyes and frowned at what he found buried under layers and layers of agony.

Reaching out to turn the kid over, he eyed the metal contraption fastened around his neck. As he carefully inspected the back, gently prodding the inflamed flesh around the Tourniquet he discovered the source of the agony. It seemed that some sort of big needle had been inserted into the base of his skull.

_Tourniquet, huh? Well… we'll see about that._

Gathering his mind and focusing on the area around the brainstem he understood the problem: there was scarring around the sensitive nerves adjacent to the spike.

_Looks like electricity…that's gotta hurt. _

"Mystique," he said, addressing the woman in the doorway who had been watching him for the past half hour. "We need to remove the device immediately. The residual electric currents running through the spike is messing with his brain. His body is in a coma trying to heal the damage caused by the torture, but the Tourniquet keeps causing more damage. It's like a guy on foot trying to catch a race car… his body just can't keep up."

"So, if we get the Tourniquet off, he'll be okay?"

"I didn't say that. Most likely there's already significant brain damage," Garrett answered emotionlessly, sounding, for all the world, like he was discussing the weather.

**TBC**

**A/N: **Ahh… there's nothing like a bit of Pyro-whumping to lighten one's day!

Please review and tell me what you think.

**Ebon Hush**


	6. Life Signs

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my own delusions.

**A/N: **This is slow going, huh? Well, here's the next chapter (with editing). Thank you for the reviews so far, they are awesome. I'm glad you liked Garrett, so I'll keep him in the story.

I know I've tweaked the Human Rights stuff a little, but I'll come up with an explanation for that, don't worry. This chapter is dedicated to Marcus 1233, Jeune Chat, and IT.

**Turning and Returning.**

**Chapter 6: Life Signs **

There was only pain; pain and darkness. It wound around him like an uncomfortably tight blanket he just couldn't kick off – choking and smothering.

He couldn't move, he could barely think through the waves of raw agony that ripped at him with every breath he took. Disjointed flashes played through his fractured consciousness: Trask, fire, pain, Mystique, fresh air, pain and more pain as the darkness rose up to swallow him whole.

Pyro's breathing quickened.

"_He's movin'!"_

"_Hurry up, get back…need some space."_

Voices. Who? Where?

He felt his muscles seizing up violently and tasted blood in the back of his throat.

A sick crunching spread through his skull.

A sharp jolt of electricity made its way through his system. It _hurt!_

Was he back _there_ again? Didn't they get out? Had he been dreaming the whole thing?

_No…_

He felt cold. He couldn't move! Was he still in restraints?

He started fighting.

"_He's convulsing; keep him down, Toad!"_

"_I'm tryin'; get on with it, lad."_

Light flared in front of his eyes, and he could feel hands holding him down.

"No…"

"_That's it, little brother, just try to breathe. We've got ya… come on back."_

Breathe? Wasn't he breathing? The darkness rolled over him in thick waves, eating the light – pulling him under.

_Help me…_

The pandemonium in his head, in his body faded, became muted. On second thought, the darkness didn't seem so scary…

"_Come on, Johnny. Come on…"_

_Bobby?_

**-()-**

"His breathing is slowing!"

Bobby heard Azrael's words well enough, but they didn't really register for a few split seconds.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as he looked around him. At the tremors slowly leaving John's body still, too still; at Mystique and Toad leaning back and away, not needed to hold him down anymore; at Azrael bent over his friend, face tight with concentration; at the table holding a bolt cutter and the bloody Tourniquet, spiked and vicious.

He felt sick.

Azrael's hands were covered in red as he tried to put pressure on the wound. "Damn. It's like the fucking Niagara Falls over here…I'm losing him."

"No…"

_Not happening, not happening._

"Come on, Johnny, come on."

"Iceman."

_This isn't funny…_

"Iceman!"

"Huh?" he blinked rapidly, wincing from the sharp jab of pain that jolted him out of his fugue. Azrael was looking at Bobby in annoyance, a finger placed squarely on his forehead.

"Thank you so much for joining us, hero," the biomanipulator sneered and turned back to what he was doing, hands around John's neck, eerily reminiscent of a stranglehold.

"What do you need?" Bobby asked, ignoring the abrasive 'hero' comment.

He wasn't a hero, he couldn't save anybody.

"Snap out of it, X-man, and get your ass over here; now!" Garret ground out, frowning with the effort of staving off the steady stream of blood from the back of John's neck.

Mystique and Toad had backed away from the bed, giving the de facto doctor room to work. Mystique was readying a wicked-looking syringe and Toad was handing Azrael bandages and stuff when asked.

"I'm here," Bobby said. "What can I do?"

"The bleeding isn't stopping," Azrael huffed out, sounding almost offended. "Cold might help, so get frosty and help me out here!"

Bobby looked at him, uncomprehendingly. "What?"

Garrett shook his head. "Fucking freeze up and touch him!"

"Oh, right…" Iceman mumbled and frosted his hands. "Where?"

"Neck area would be good, thanks. Keep a steady pressure."

"Okay." Bobby swallowed and placed his hands gently around the neck of his best friend, wincing in sympathy as he did so. John had always hated when they play-fought, and Bobby brought his powers into it.

He didn't even want to consider the symbolism of their position.

_Like you never wanted to strangle him, Iceman, _the 'Pyro-voice snorted in his head.

Actually, even if he didn't want to admit it, he felt kinda weird touching John at all. He remembered that John hadn't been the most tactile of people; their physical interaction had always been limited to play fights and the occasional slap atop the head or punch to the shoulder. Eyeing the sores and burn marks on his old friend's chest, Bobby couldn't help but feel that he was crossing a line, crossing into dangerous territory.

As he watched with bated breath, the frail body beneath him shook violently and Pyro coughed weakly, just once.

After a few seconds, Azrael heaved a sigh.

"It's working, keep it up," he said, a note of encouragement in his voice. "What? Shit!"

His relieved tones morphed into incredulity. "Goddamnit! We have respiratory failure… shitshitshit."

The heart monitor segued from an unsteady _beep-beep-beep_ into a monotone whine.

"His heart's givin' up," Toad said hoarsely, glaring at the young 'healer'. "You'd better not lose him, lad…"

"Just a minute. Mystique?" Garrett ground out, not looking away from his patient.

The assassin slid past the fuming Englishman and unceremoniously stabbed the thick needle through Pyro's chest, into his heart.

Bobby fought down the urge to gag at the sight of the syringe piercing John's skin.

Azrael met his eyes across the rumpled covers of the bed where Pyro was lying so, so still.

"Do you know CPR?" he asked hurridly.

"I ahh… yes I do," Bobby responded.

"Do the compressions, then. Ready?"

Bobby moved his bloody hands from around John's neck to his thin chest, taking care to lean over enough so that he was positioned directly above his sternum, standing on tip toes to gain enough distance for him to push down with his arms straight.

The X-Man and the biomanipulator worked with quiet intensity, Azrael counting out compressions and breathing for Pyro in a steady rhythm, pausing every once in a while to check for a pulse.

Bobby hung his head and closed his eyes as he worked, not able to find the strength to watch anymore. He felt a numbness creep over him, felt his world become silent save for the steady, constant whining of the flat line.

He could feel his arms becoming heavy with fatigue; feel them start to shake slightly from the strain.

_Come on Come on Come on… please, Johnny, don't be so stubborn._

In the rational part of his brain, Bobby knew that John probably wasn't _trying_ to die on purpose; in fact, he clearly remembered from a late night conversation, that John's preferred way of going out included something along the lines of an active volcano, a lot of booze, base jumping, and the phrase 'shutes are for pussies'. His half-asleep ramblings had not included any kinds of torture devices or something as 'lame' as heart failure.

_You're NOT dieing like this, you bastard!_ Bobby thought grimly, opened his eyes and redoubled his efforts.

Time seemed to warp and stretch, movement and images blinking across his retinas to the steady beat of "one, two, three…" like he was watching a dance floor illuminated only by a strobe light.

"One

Two

Three…"

_Bleep Bleep_

…

_Bleep…bleep_

…

_Bleep_

"That's it!"

It took a few seconds before the words made their way from his ears through his brain and to his hands, and another moment before he stopped the compressions.

"That's it, Johnny. Come on, man. Breathe!" he chanted over and over, as Azrael seemed to change strategy, tilting John's head back again and forcing some kind of energy discharge into him repeatedly.

The heart monitor bleeped a few more times and then picked a beat and stuck to it. They all breathed sighs of relief.

"We have a rhythm," Garrett stated, leaning back and wiping sweat from his brow. He looked almost drained to Bobby – tired and drawn. The back of his hand made a swipe across his lips and the young man frowned at the still-wet blood he came away with.

_Afraid of boy-cooties? Or HIV, maybe?_

"Is that it?" Bobby asked the biomanipulator. "Is he gonna be alright?"

Shooting an annoyed look at the young X-man, Azrael ran a hand through his long hair and leaned towards the bed again.

"God, you are one pushy bastard," he grumbled, and leaned back over his patient.

"Back the hell off and let me check, 'kay?" he said grimly, keeping a steady pressure on the back of Pyro's neck with one hand and checking for a pulse with the other. "Toad, get me a…" Toad handed him a sterile pad, before he had finished making the request. "…Thank you."

Working silently and efficiently, Garrett began cleaning up the area and patching up the wound.

Only when Toad reached over to help Azrael turn John on his side for easy access, did Bobby realise that the fingers of one of his hands was still lightly tracing what felt and looked like an old scar right below John's left nipple. He pulled his hand back as if burnt.

Azrael snorted and Bobby looked up at him, only to encounter a wryly lifted eyebrow and a sneer. As Iceman tried desperately to control his blush, damning his sucky poker face, the other young man turned to Mystique and asked: "Shouldn't your 'prisoner' be, let me see… imprisoned?"

"Mind your own business, Garrett," was the cool and dismissive answer he received from the blue skinned woman, who looked completely unaffected by it all, as though she saw people bleed to death every other day. Putting a steady hand on Bobby's shoulder, she continued:"Iceman isn't going to run, are you?" Her hand tightened a little, letting him feel the strength contained in those slender digits.

Bobby, trying hard not to flinch, looked over his shoulder and met her eyes, uncomfortably close to his. What was it with these people and personal space issues? How the heck did John last even a week here?

"Besides," Mystique was saying, "where would he run to?"

He didn't rightly know, he realised. Bobby had no idea of where exactly they were, and he had absolutely no intention of staging a one man prison break, when for all he knew, he could be on an island in the middle of the sea.

"I won't run, I promised you that," he said, feeling inordinately proud of the lack of a tremor in his voice.

Mystique just smiled knowingly and looked at Pyro with what looked to Bobby as real fondness.

Azrael shrugged. "Hardly standard practice, that's all," he said, indifferently. "Getting soft there, Raven?"

Before any of them could even blink, Mystique was up in her former compatriot's face, her hand expertly cutting off his air supply. As Bobby watched in shock, her fingers clenched further and Garrett gagged a little. Leaning in and meeting his eyes with a fiercely burning yellow glare, she hissed something in a language Bobby had absolutely no chance of understanding. Something Middle Eastern he guessed.

Whatever she said, it must have been pretty scary, because Garrett went even paler than he already was, and his lips twitched noticeably. Bobby couldn't be sure but he thought he saw a little moisture gathering in his eyes.

"Don't ever call me that, Garrett my dear," the tall woman finished and let go, ever so slowly, leaving behind angry red welts on the young man's throat. Azrael lowered his eyes and croaked: "Whatever you say, Mystique," even as the marks rapidly faded.

This submissive move, so animalistic, brought home to Bobby exactly who he was dealing with here; this wasn't the Mansion – there were no students and teachers here, only dominants and submissives. This wasn't about nurturing talent or friendship; everyone here had killed. He looked away from the painfully uncomfortable spectacle and his eyes landed on John. Pyro.

_Everyone…_

**-()-**

He slowly blinked back into consciousness, and instantly wished he hadn't.

His entire body ached and a stabbing pain ricocheted around his head, from the back of his skull to his eye sockets, like a damned pinball on steroids. Even his teeth hurt!

"F'ck…" he mumbled and tried to raise his hand to rub at his temples.

That's when he felt them: the restraints.

"No… nonononono…" he gasped, trying to move his arms, hands, anything.

It took a good while, before anything else registered in his mind, like the fact that the walls weren't white, or that he was on a bed, or that Toad was staring down at him, speaking.

"…it easy, Pyro. You're safe, mate."

_Safe… Right. I'm dreaming, _he thought, dejectedly. It was just a dream, like so many before it. Being rescued, having someone come for him. Just a dream… not real.

The fight left him as he stared blankly at the ceiling, willing himself to wake up. He didn't want the false visions. He didn't need them.

"Go away," he whispered.

The fake-Toad just smiled a little and how the hell was it Pyro could still remember exactly the way a small scar on Toad's lip pulled his grin a little to one side?

"Sorry, mate," fake-Toad was saying. "Can't do that, bein' on babysitter duty an' all."

_Why the hell can't I wake up? Did they drug me again?_

He hated when they did that. He banged his head lightly back on the bed in frustration.

"AHH!" he yelled, his eyes snapping open at the sharp pain ripping through him, as he made contact with the pillow under his head.

_Wait… Pain? My dreams don't have pain._

Blinking rapidly, he looked around again, making sure only to move his eyes. His vision was swimming and the Toad in front of him became two, then three and then one again. He remembered. Mystique… was that real?

"Toad?" he asked weakly, trying to swallow back the bout of nausea caused by the wild kaleidoscope-vision he was experiencing.

"One an' only, lad. Now lie still, while I get these restraints off ya."

He felt cold clammy skin at his right wrist and suddenly he could move his hand.

"Toad…" he repeated, ignoring the way his throat seemed to scream in protest as the sound was dragged through it. He felt like he'd swallowed broken glass.

"Hush, now, Pyro," Toad said, while rifling around in one of the many pockets of his military issue pants. "I brought a friend for you," the amphibian continued, and placed something cold and metallic in his hand.

As the older mutant moved to release his other arm, Pyro raised his hand and looked in absent curiosity. The familiar sharp-toothed, stylised red-white-and-black grin had him break out in a cold sweat.

With trembling fingers he flicked the lid; the metallic 'click' had him close his eyes in near-sensual bliss. So long… it had been so fucking long!

It took him three tries, but finally, finally he got enough traction on the wheel and a small flame flickered to life.

He stopped shaking. His other hand, free now, rose into the air a little and the fire leapt to it as from one blade of dry grass to another: eagerly.

The pain was inconsequential. The questions could wait. The world could go fuck itself for all he cared.

It had been so long!

As the flame slowly grew, undulating and so achingly familiar, the world faded away and he smiled.

Standing beside the bed, Toad watched as he seemed to clutch the flame to him like a drowning man would clutch a piece of driftwood. A small chuckle made its way past his lips as the boy built the fire higher, getting reacquainted with his oldest friend.

After what seemed like hours, hazel eyes finally flickered open and looked at him through the heat haze spreading through the air. Every sign of confusion and pain was gone from the youngest Brotherhood member's face; having been replaced by the oh-so-familiar angry smirk. As their eyes met, Toad couldn't help but return the smile.

"Good to have you back, Pyro."

**TBC.**

**A/N: **Yay! He's awake and badder than ever! I know this chapter might be a bit long winded, but I have written five chapters with practically no Pyro and I have received requests from some (you know who you are!) for more Toad, so there you are… And a little touchy-feely moment thrown in there just for fun.

_This chapter has been edited according to Jeune Chat's very kind suggestions on how to make my absolutely craptastic pseudo-medical nonsense more realistic. Thank you, oh Muse of Medical Knowledge!!!!_

Please review and let me know what you think! (More than one sentence, as always, thank you!)

Lotsa love.

Ebon Hush


End file.
